


Karkat's House

by ForgottenDreamofFlames



Series: Weird Shit Invades John's Life [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Rating May Change, Stabdads, Tags will be updated as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 20:02:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1615325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForgottenDreamofFlames/pseuds/ForgottenDreamofFlames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the Ripped Stitches universe before/during chapter 18 and before chapter 19 in which I show a bit more of John and Karkat's relationship. You MUST read the first fic first or else this will contain massive spoilers for you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Karkat's House

**Author's Note:**

> Now the first chapter is NOT NEW, sorry folks, but I think the best way to get Ripped Stitches back on track is if I make this a separate work that is updated at it's own pace instead of me just procrastinating on this and therefor Ripped Stitches as well. Set before/during chapter 18 and before chapter 19.

Your name is John Egbert and you have a serious issue.

You’re curled up in bed, despite it still being daytime. All the lights in your apartment are on, as per usual since your first run-in with the creature. It was illogical and childish, but you don’t care in the least. You are more than permitted a little childishness after the last week of near constant stress and fear.

You run the scenes through your mind over and over, though you’d really rather just do away with the memories. You reflect on the today’s events, the monster seeming not-quite-so-monstrous with its wing broken, whimpering and barely hanging onto consciousness. You had felt the strangest compulsion to help it; you weren’t heartless after all. But then it had kissed you. You had made it about as clear as possible about your feelings, though in hindsight, you might have overreacted a little.  But how else would you respond when you had almost an entire year’s worth of terror racked up from the monster that had stalked you back in Texas.     

Your mind jumps back a few years, to when you were fourteen years old and living in the Deep South. You hadn’t particularly liked the sweltering summer weather, but you had a pool to cool off in, and the people were fairly nice to you and your sister, so it hadn’t been too bad at first.

You, Jade, and Dad had moved down there because he had been offered a new accounting position that had just opened up (and came with a significantly larger pay), but only on the condition he move to Houston where the company was based. Neither you nor Jade had any close friends in Washington at the time, and you both agreed you’d benefit from a little more money (you weren’t a poor family by any means; you got by just fine, but certain luxuries, like braces to fix your buckteeth, you had to go without).

So the three of you had packed up and moved down to Texas without a hitch, everything going perfectly, and at the end of it all Dad even got a slight raise for getting there so quickly. You made a couple of friends afterward, as did Jade, and your grades were good; overall things were great. Then you figured out you had a stalker.

At first you dismissed the idea; that sort of stuff only happened in creepy movies, or to girls who lived across the country, never to anybody you actually knew, so what did you have to worry about? A lot, as it turned out.

It had started out fairly simply, nicely in fact.

For example, things you could have sworn you lost just conveniently turned up at random times and you attributed it to a streak of good luck, as any sane person would. Later, you found a bouquet of fresh flowers (forget-me-nots and orange roses, curiously enough) on your doorstep, addressed to “The Blue-Eyed Boy”, which was innocent enough in itself, a gift you and your family assumed was from some shy girl at school too nervous to approach you in person.

Things were still pretty normal after that, and you even had somebody with a crush me apparently, which was pretty new to you. In fact, the whole “romance thing” was new at the time, to be honest, having only had a couple serious crushes, and acting on only one of those. Her name had been Rose, and as turned out, didn’t return your affections and was a lesbian.

You didn’t hold against her of course and the two of you had been close friends for the following few years, though she abruptly stopped returning your texts and messages on Pesterchum shortly after she moved to New York, just a couple months before you moved to Texas.

You had been worried of course, near panic, but then you received a text message from her telling you not to try and contact her any more, you had definitely been concerned, but reluctantly dropped it for a bit after she snapped at you to stop being so damn clingy; she’d already told you to buzz off. You thought something must have happened to make her act that way and that she’d get over it if you were patient.

The next time you tried to pester her, you got a message stating “the handle ‘tentacleTherapist’ no longer exists”.

You stopped trying to call her after the sixth time you got nothing but an automated message saying the phone number you called doesn’t exist.

More than a little concerned as to why she would go to such lengths to prevent communication between the two of you, you asked your dad to call Rose’s mom and make sure they were okay. (Your dad and Rose’s mom had dated briefly and you knew they still kept in touch.) Your dad later assured you that both Rose and “Roxanne” were completely fine. Rose’s mom had even got a job at some fancy high-paying job where they did animal testing involving cloning and genetic engineering. That threw you off (wasn’t that illegal?), but eventually you had to let it go since you weren’t exactly in a position to change anything.

 

 Karkat: Calm John the fuck down==>

What? Why would John need to be calmed down? Sure, he was more than a little flirty last time you saw him, but it wasn’t too bad, looking back on it. (You kind of enjoyed the attention if you’re totally honest with yourself, even if John was a bit dickish about it, the adorable bastard.)

You knock on John’s door and hear some shuffling around from the other side before the deadbolt slides back with a slight squeaking noise and the door swings open hardly an inch to reveal one of John’s blue eyes, now bloodshot and teary. What you could see of him looked like shit.

You blink and  ~~stutter~~  calmly ask, “John? I know it’s early but mind if I come-”

The door slams shut before you finish your poorly enunciated question, leaving you looking like a complete fucking idiot, mouth still hanging open, having been cut off mid word. You shut your mouth and glance around to make sure nobody had seen your moment of looking exceptionally dumb.

You clear your throat and lean close to the door. “Look, I’m sorry I just barged up here unannounced, but that doesn’t warrant you literally slamming that stupid squeaky door in my face like I’m an evil ex-boyfriend come to vie for your affections; I just wanted to see you for fucks sake. Some weird shit’s been happening lately and I thought you should know about it. But if you don’t want to see me I’ll just go then. Feel free to call me whenever.” Fuck, you sounded really needy. “I mean, because I wanted to talk to you, not because, you know, I don’t have anything else to do.” You are fumbling over your words and it’s disgusting that you’re already smitten with this guy to the point of word fumbling. You don’t fumble words, you are a fuckdamned artist with words and can easily annihilate anybody else in an argument, even if said argument involves verbally assaulting the other person with graphic descriptions of where exactly they can stick their opinion.

You sort of stand there in front of John’s door a little longer, attempting to will it open instead of knocking again. What if you had misinterpreted? What if John didn’t really like you, he just put up with you out of gratitude for saving his drunken ass in a weak moment of pity and heroism. You haven’t pressed the question of why the buck-toothed boy had gotten shit-faced since it probably was not something he wanted to remember and an unhappy John tends to upset you, mostly because you’d gotten used to his bizarre amount of general happiness. You suspect it’s an act to cover up his real emotions sometimes (you often do this with your anger), but you haven’t known him long enough to be sure so you can’t risk calling him on it in case you’re wrong and fuck all your progress with him up, Vantas style. He’s the closest you’ve gotten to an actual romantic partner since the whole Eridan fiasco. You elect not to think about him, the cheating fucktrumpet. Who did that fungus of a human being even think he was, stringing you along like that?! He should have at least have had the guts to break up with you when you found out about Feferi! But nooo, he proposed a threesome instead. Just because you’re polyamorous doesn’t mean you want to hook up with a cheating dickprince and his girlfriend (who, you might add, had no idea Eridan was your boyfriend, which is why she dumped him shortly afterward, ha). Goddamnit you’re getting off topic again. What even is the topic at this point in the magical world known as Karkat’s mind? Oh yeah, leaving John alone because you’re a needy pile of trash pining after a guy who might not even really like you, despite the handholding, flirting, acceptance of awkward boners, and blatant innuendo.

You amaze even yourself sometime when it comes to your own stupidity.

You nearly facepalm right then and there. Shit like this, needing constant reassurance that somebody likes you at all despite their numerous actions proving they obviously did, is why your relationships all fail. You like to think of yourself as a bit of a romantic-advice guru, armed with the huge amount of info gleaned from numerous rom-coms and romance novels, and while your friends romantic endeavors seem to go fine for the most part, yours is a complete and utter flop, to your dismay, even with your self-proclaimed expertise in all things relationship related.

You know what, fuck this masochistic spiral of self hate. You are a goddamn delight and anybody who says otherwise can go fuck themselves with a three-foot spiked dragon dildo (which you might have come across online during your travels through the kinkier parts of the internet; you also may or may not have winced the thought of that going anywhere near your ass, then started sniggering at the thought of some other idiot dropping a couple hundred dollars to get their grubby hands on the thing before realizing that that thing will never ever fit inside any bodily orifice, holy shit).

Veering away from that train of thought, you still wait another moment before turning away from John’s door, only to get yanked backwards by your shirt. You let out a small and very manly shriek of surprise at finding yourself falling backwards into the arms of a certain buck-toothed idiot.

You’d have bitch-slapped him right there if not for the expression on his face.

You awkwardly extricate yourself from his embrace before clearing your throat again. “Er, John? Are you alright, I mean, you don’t look so hot right now, well you do but, uh.” Fucking epitome of suave right there. But it brings a slight grin to John’s face, so it’s more than worth it.

“To be honest, no. I just got…” he swallows before continuing, “I just got mugged in the park, so I’m a little shaken up is all.”

You balk and instantly snap into protective mode. “Fuck, John! Are you hurt?! Shit, did you call police yet? When did this even happen?! How much money did thy take, I could help you out if they took a ton; my dad knows some people who could get it back for you- wait, why didn’t you think to call me?! You could have been dead right now and I’d just be waiting outside thinking you were ignoring me for some inane reason like, like…”

He just shushes you, patting you gently on the cheek. “Shoosh.”

“Did you just fucking shoosh me?”

“It’s a definite possibility.” Smug ass dickhead. At least his sass hadn’t been injured, though something about the way John’s acting seem kinda off. You’re probably overthinking this.

“Stop touching my face, asshole, you might have just been mugged but mrmff.” John interrupts you again, but you can’t really say you mind since it involves his lips on yours, completely erasing your complaints about touching your face because wow you almost forgot how nice kissing someone was (mostly because Eridan was a really crappy kisser, way too much tongue, ew, and fuck all of this you need to focus on John right now). He just brushed his teeth, you can tell by the mint on his breathe, and your mind goes almost entirely blank because oh, that is his hand on your ass and you can’t say you don’t want it there. You quickly get on your tippy-toes to better reach him, despite the rumbling chuckle you feel come from him as you press yourself against his chest. Fuck that’s hot.

You pull yourself away from John, hyper-aware of your flushed face. Ugh, you really need to get yourself under control if all it takes to put the brakes on what would have become a full-fledged rant is a little bit of kissing. You grumble, “Damn it John, cut that out. Seriously, I need to know if you’re okay.”

He presses another kiss to your forehead then smiles. “I’m fine. Really.”

“Bull. Shit.” You deliberately pronounce the words individually and with the proper amount of emphasis required in this situation, stretching them out.

A small crack in John’s composure appears as his smile falters for a second and you latch onto it as proof of your suspicions. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“So you admit there’s something wrong then!” He shifts nervously between his feet.

“Well… yes. But if I tell you, please promise me you won’t freak out.” His eyes search yours, looking for some reassurance and you relent.

“Oh fine, I promise, now spit it out.” You deflate slightly as John shoots you another smile, a real one this time.

He scratches the back of his neck as he avoids looking you in the eye, his gaze trailing over the furniture inhabiting his house. “I guess you could say I have a stalker. A really creepy one.”

He guesses he could have a stalker? This isn’t the time for half-assed bullshitery; you need answers. This is most likely apparent on your face because John rushes to continue. “I haven’t known him long, really, maybe a week or so? But he keeps following me around and knocking on my w- door, he keeps knocking on my door and leaving creepy notes like ‘Hello John’. Like how does he even know my name?! I’ve never even talked to him! And then he just grabbed me and kissed me in the park and it was so gross! I mean, he tasted terrible, ew, and I totally just kissed you after so you kinds indirectly made out with him too; what if he had a disease or something and we get sick?!”

This time, you’re the one doing the shooshing, pulling him close again. You certainly didn’t like what you had heard, and if you ever met the fucker who apparently just assaulted John, you would, without hesitation, make sure his stomach became acquainted with your knife. On second thought, you think you’ll slit his throat instead. Twice, so on the extremely off chance he does survive, he’ll have scars to match your own. Dad would probably give you a pat on the back for such a vengeful act of violence.

You move your hand in circles over John’s back as you hug him close and his rapid breathing slows to something resembling a healthy pace of breath. Once you deem John sufficiently calmed down, you take a step back and look up at him, taking his face into your hands, feeling the slightest bit of stubble on his cheeks. “John. Listen, if you don’t feel safe here, you are abso-fucking-lutely welcome to stay with me for as long as you like.” You hope you didn’t come across as too forward, but he just nods, letting out a relieved breath.

You hadn’t thought he’d actually take you up on that offer, but you aren’t going to retract it, hell to the no; if John legitimately doesn’t feel safe in his own home because of some obsessed freak, then the duty falls to you to take him in since all his family seems to live states away and can’t just drop everything the way you can. Being a mob-boss’s son has its perks. For one, the pay is great and you get a crash-course training on how to defend yourself, free with admission.

“So, you really mean that? I can actually stay with you?” He’s staring at you with those stupid blue puppy-eyes again, way too hopeful for someone who was just attacked.

“Of course. Would I lie to you?”

* * *

Have a Karkat that took way too long to draw. I'm only just starting to get used to using a tablet, and that's with the easy programs.

[ ](http://s969.photobucket.com/user/Hemospectrumeter/media/RSKarkat_zps5f92f8ee.jpg.html)


End file.
